When Dogs Cry (12 page)

Julia the Scrubber: ‘How very noble of you.'

Rube came back in, saying, ‘I don't know what you're talkin' about Cam. There's no-one on the phone.'

‘I'm telling you,' I said on my way out. ‘There was a guy there Rube, and he sounded like he wanted to kill you. So when the phone rings again, get up and answer it.'

The phone did ring again and this time Rube came
running out of the room and got it. Again, they hung up on him. By the third time, Rube barked into the phone. ‘How ‘bout you start talkin'. If you want Ruben Wolfe, you've got him. So talk!'

There was no response from the other end, and the phone didn't ring again that night, but after Julia left, I could see that Rube was a little pensive. He was about as worried as Ruben Wolfe gets, because he knew without doubt now, like I did, that something was coming. In our room, he looked at me. In the exchanging of our eyes, he was telling me a fight was looming.

He sat on his bed.

‘I guess that bad feeling you had was right,' he began. ‘About Julia.' It wasn't like Rube to be scared, because we both knew he could take care of himself. He was one of the most liked but most feared people in our neighbourhood. The only trouble now was that nothing was certain. It was a feeling, that's all, and I could sense that Rube was feeling it now as well. I could smell it.

‘If somethin' comes up,' I said, ‘I'll be there, okay?'

Rube nodded. ‘Thanks brother.' He smiled.

The phone rang the next night as well, and the next.

On the third call of Friday night, Rube picked up the phone and shouted, ‘What!?'

He then grew quiet.

‘Yeah.' A pause. ‘Yeah, sorry about that.' He looked over at me and shrugged his shoulders. ‘I'll get him.' He took the receiver away and covered the mouthpiece. ‘It's for you.' He held it out to me, thinking. What was he thinking?

‘Hello.'

‘It's me,' she said. Her voice reached through the phone and took me. ‘You working tomorrow?'

‘Till about four-thirty.'

She thought for a moment. ‘Maybe,' she said, ‘we can do something when you get back. I'll take you somewhere.' Her words were soft but intense. ‘I'll tell you things.' The voice was excitement. The voice was shivers.

I smiled. I couldn't help it. ‘For sure.'

‘Okay, I'll come over just after four-thirty.'

‘Good, I'll see you then.'

‘I have to go.' She almost cut me off, and she didn't say goodbye. She said, ‘I'm watching the clock,' and she was gone.

When I hung up, Rube asked what I knew he would.

‘Who was that?' He bit into an apple. ‘She sounded familiar.'

I moved closer and sat at the kitchen table and swallowed. I concentrated on breathing. This was it. This was it and I had to say it. I said, ‘Remember Octavia?'

There was nothing.

The tap dripped.

It exploded into the sink.

Rube was halfway through another bite when he realised what I was saying.

His head tilted. He swallowed the piece of apple and made the calculation, while I was thinking,
Oh no, what the hell's about to happen here?

Something happened.

It happened when Rube went and tightened the tap, turned back around and said, ‘Well Cam.' He laughed.

Was that a good laugh or a bad one? Good laugh, bad laugh? Good laugh, bad laugh? I couldn't decide. I waited.

‘What?' I asked. I couldn't stand it any more. ‘Tell me.'

Nervously, I started telling him about what happened. I told him about standing outside the house in Glebe. About Octavia showing up. About the train and going there, and the shell, and—

‘It's all
right,'
he said. His expression was almost proud. ‘. . . That Octavia,' and he shook his head now. ‘She's a great girl, y' know? Slightly insane, of course, but,' he continued, ‘she's nice. You deserve her Cam, more than I ever did.' He waited for me to look at him. It took a while. ‘Okay?'

I nodded, slowly, in agreement. ‘Okay.'

‘Good.'

‘You're not angry?'

‘Now why in the hell should I be? A girl like that needs to be treated right, and you can do that.
I
can't.' Then he unloaded a truth much harsher than Steve could even dream of. Only, Rube did it to himself. ‘Me?' he told himself. ‘I treated that girl like dirt, and now she's got you. You'll probably treat her like a goddess. Won't y' Cam?'

I smiled, but didn't bare my teeth.

He repeated the question. ‘Won't y' Cam?' because we both knew the answer.

This time, I couldn't hide it. Rube and I laughed and stayed together a while in the kitchen.

‘What are you two so happy about?' Sarah asked when she came in. ‘It looks like the end of a Scooby bloody Doo episode in here . . .'

Rube clapped his hands. ‘Wait till you hear this,' he nearly shouted.

‘Remember Octavia?'

‘Of course.'

‘Well, I'll tell y' what. You'll be seein' a bit more of her again, because—'

‘I knew it!' Sarah went through him. She pointed at me. ‘I bloody knew there was a girl, you little bastard, and
you
wouldn't tell me anything!' I'd never seen Sarah grin like this. ‘Wait!' she said, and, maybe thirty seconds later, she came back out with her polaroid camera and took an instant shot of Rube and me, both leaning back against the sink, talking and laughing.

We crowded around it to watch the picture form, and soon I could make out the rough-gatherings of Rube's hair and the smile of my own mouth. The apple was still balancing in Rube's hand and we were standing there, leaning, laughing, both in old jeans, Rube in a flanno work shirt, me in my old spray jacket. Rube was looking at me, saying something, and my face was imprinted with laughter.

Sarah pulled the photo closer to her.

‘I love this picture,' she said, without a moment's thought. ‘It looks like brothers.'

What brothers should be,
I thought, and we all continued looking at it, as the tap still dripped down, exploding more quietly now, into the sink.

Later on, I went to Sarah's bedroom to take another look at the photo.

She said, ‘Octavia, huh?' I couldn't see her face but I could sense the thrill in her voice. ‘She's beautiful, Cameron.' So quiet now. So quiet I could barely hear her. ‘She's beautiful.'

‘Like you,' I wanted to say, but didn't manage it. It had been a while for Sarah. A few bad experiences with men had left my sister alone for a while now, but when I looked at her, she wasn't unhappy. She just repeated what she'd said in the hallway that night, which seemed like years ago now. ‘Good for you, Cam. Good for you.'

Work the next day was agonisingly slow, as I waited. It felt like the hours were on their hands and knees, being dragged forward against their will.

When we made it home, it was closer to five o'clock than four-thirty, so Octavia was already waiting in the kitchen. She and Rube spoke and there was no animosity. No awkwardness.

As for me, I was standing there in awe.

She wore no make-up, had nothing sprayed over her hair, and she wore normal clothes. No tight top. No tight jeans. No jewellery except the shell, dangling from around her neck.

But she was lovely.

She was so . . .

God, I can't explain it right. Even now, I can't.

‘Well?' She entered my thoughts with her quiet voice and human eyes. ‘Are you going to kiss me Cameron?'

I was shocked.

By beauty.

By words.

Get over there,
I told myself, and soon I held her hand in mine and kissed it, then her wrist, and her lips.

‘He found you,' said Mrs Wolfe. ‘That's good.' My mother came in and looked at me and I remembered what she'd told me in this very room a while back, when winter was just starting. She told me about a brother that would rise up one day and to not be ashamed. Maybe she was remembering it, too. She said, ‘You better hurry up Cam. I think Octavia's waited long enough.'

I went and had a shower, got dressed, and Octavia and I left the house soon after. There were no words of be back at a certain time or don't come in too late. Nothing like that. Firstly, my family was used to me walking around the streets, and secondly, if I stayed out too late it would be said the next time I went out. In my family, you got one chance on your own, and how long it lasted was up to you. Sarah had been past that age now for years, and Rube was nearly there, too. For me though, I still had to be careful, and I'd make sure I was.

‘We going?' Octavia asked, and I held the door open. We were gone.

We were a fair way along the street when I figured out that I had absolutely no idea where we were heading. I asked.

All Octavia did then was remain focused on where she was walking and said, ‘You'll see. Nowhere special.' She sounded content, like nothing but us seemed to matter.
At least, not for tonight. Her hand found its way to mine and I held it. There were no words but it didn't matter. The walk sign appeared at one of the streets and we crossed. I made sure not to trip up the gutter.

‘This way,' she said later, diverting us from the larger crowds to a small movie theatre on a narrow, cluttered street. ‘Would you mind if we went in here?' she asked. ‘I kind of like old movies and this place shows some every Saturday.'

‘Sounds good,' I replied. I mean, let's be truthful here. This girl could have invited me to hell and I'd have gone with her. There was no way I was going to argue, so we went in.

We went in and the movie was good.

It was
Raging Bull
and the guy seemed to know Octavia and let us in, even though he said he shouldn't. At times, I thought about other movies I'd seen where people our age go out on dates and they eat popcorn and look good and get a photo done in one of those supermarket passport booths.

One thing was for sure.

That wasn't us.

It wasn't because at one point, Octavia leaned over to me and I thought she was going to kiss me. She didn't.

She slept.

I looked at her and stroked her hair as she slept through De Niro smacking people around and getting fatter and uglier and meaner. The movie was black and white, and I could feel a girl breathing onto my throat. I could feel her breast lightly touching my ribcage.

I was happy.

When the credits arrived on the screen, I let the back of my fingers stroke her face. Gently, I whispered, ‘Octavia.' Again. ‘Octavia.'

She woke up, startled, afraid at the darkness, then realised. ‘Thank God,' she whispered. ‘Cameron. It's you.' The credits were still rolling when she stirred slightly and said quietly, ‘Could you kiss me Cameron?'

Holding her, I leaned down.

I remember something about that moment, and it's one of the best rememberings I own.

It was the exact moment when I got closer and she pulled me into her, and our teeth touched in the dark. Her mouth took me in, and somehow, our teeth collided and the sound of it echoed through me. I liked it. The accidental truth of it.

With the lights starting to dim themselves on, Octavia said quietly, ‘You know something Cameron? You're the first person I've ever really wanted to kiss me. You're the first peron I ever asked.'

This came as a surprise.

‘You never asked Rube?'

‘He didn't need to be asked.'

‘I s'pose,' I reacted, I should've known that.' If Rube wanted something, there was no waiting. With me, there was too much.

‘The thing is,' she turned my head gently towards her. ‘I like that I get to ask you. It makes you unlike anyone I've ever met.' She kissed me again. Soft. Slow. ‘That's the sort of person I want to be with.'

Outside, she decided she'd better get home, so we walked back to Central Station and waited for the train in the underground. There was the usual spattering of party-goers, lunatics, cigarette thieves and winos, with each of their thoughts and conversations tumbling across the dirty platform. Octavia spoke to me about her harmonica and how it's probably the only thing she'd ever loved or depended on. When her train pulled in, we both looked at it. We watched the carriages open, then sat and watched it pull away. That happened another three times.

‘I can't believe I fell asleep.' She was shaking her head when the wind of the fourth train smashed onto the platform. It threw the rubbish forward and sent waves of coldness through the air.

Again, when the train pulled in and the doors opened, Octavia didn't move. I was glad. She got me to tell her what happened at the end of the movie, and in the eyes I spoke to, I could see how tired they were. I could see something hidden, or buried, but I still didn't ask. I remembered her saying to me on the phone that she would tell me things, and I figured the harmonica was the start of that. She said she started with it when she was eight years old, and when she was fourteen, she thought she was good enough to do it for money. I asked her where she'd played, and almost with embarrassment, she listed about thirty or so places throughout the city. She told me the songs. The first, the last. The best, the worst. I'd seen her happy when she was with Rube. I'd seen her happy and content when she was with me. I had never
seen her like this, though. This was pride, and in a way, I felt close to it, maybe because of the start of my words.

Then there were the odd things.

Her past addiction to Cheezels.

Her severe hatred of Celine Dion.

Her love of harmonicas, off-tune violins and saltwater.

Her favourite singer: ‘Lisa Germano, by far, by miles, by the wind blowing down these tunnels.'

Favourite movie: ‘Some French thing. I can't remember the name of it but it was bloody good.'

Favourite song:
‘Small Heads,
Lisa Germano.' (Who in the hell is she, anyway?)